Untitled or Dreams are my reality
by Lucey
Summary: set in early S4 speculation about what might happen, Jack's POV, Jack/Sawyer, not beta-ed


When he finally falls asleep the dreams invade his mind, just like he thought they would…or maybe he'd just hoped they would b

When he finally falls asleep the dreams invade his mind, just like he thought they would…or maybe he'd just hoped they would because soon they would be all he'd have left. He would be gone, back to what he still referred to as "home" and he, _he_ would be here. While he's awake Jack knows that there's no way Sawyer would change his mind, that somehow he would be able to convince him to come with…with _him_. But in his dreams he tries anyway. He asks politely, accuses him of being a coward, hell he _begs_.

It was the begging that caused a moment's hesitance in Sawyer before he had pulled away, his eyes turned down, unable – or unwilling – to meet his, his hair softly swaying as he shook his head no. "I can't…" he half-whispered before he turned and walked away. He never asked Jack to stay, it was as if he knew that just as he couldn't go back "home" Jack couldn't _not_ go.

Their last, secret meeting in the middle of the jungle had been short but intense nevertheless. Not sure if this time would be the last time, Jack had tried to memorize everything, from the darkness surrounding them to the way Sawyer's stubble had grazed his as they had shared what could very well be their last kiss. He had felt Sawyers nails digging into his hips, then his skull as he had pulled him closer – in desperation? Jack liked to think of it that way, finding an ounce of comfort in the idea that there was some part of Sawyer, however small, that wasn't totally blasé about this. He had echoed the intensity of Sawyer's kiss, pouring his emotions into every lick, every nibble, every scrape of teeth, desperately trying to make the kiss last longer as if he would finally succeed in his attempts to change his mind, already knowing, deep inside his head, that this wouldn't change anything.

They had eventually pulled apart, both panting and pressed close, their bodies entangled and for a small eternity they had stared into each other's eyes, their foreheads pressed together. Then Sawyer had pulled away, leaving him to feel lonely and cold, despite the still warm air and with a last look, he had turned around and walked away without a word. No promises, no goodbyes.

So he dreams of him, sometimes of their brief past together, that first look that had started _everything_, sometimes of the future he know they'll never have. He imagines that he's back in the "real" world, dressed in a suit, cleaned up and living in a real house, _their_ house. He imagines Sawyer there, lounging on the couch, engrossed in a book, his glasses constantly sliding down his nose only to be pushed back up with a little wiggle. He imagines taking the book out of his hands, leaning down to kiss away the annoyance etched on Sawyer's face that melts as soon as their lips touch and they forget about the world for a while.

When he is awake, he tries to push the dreams away, tries to convince himself that this, that _they_ would never work, not in the long run. The world he was so inexplicably eager to return to wouldn't allow that, it would force them back into their old roles, force them apart and they wouldn't be able to do anything against it. People…people would frown upon them, judge them and even though he'd try not to, he'd care what they were saying and he'd hate himself for that.

But then, at night, the dreams come, suggesting otherwise, trying to convince him that he's wrong, tauntingly suggesting that they would stand a chance and he wants to believe them so much, so desperately.

He refuses to think about the future when he is awake, refuses to think of his mother, Sarah, his job, everything, because every time he does, he's imagining a world without Sawyer and he's not ready to do that yet.

There's a voice inside his head that torments him, telling him that he has a choice, too. That he doesn't have to leave, that he could stay, take care of the people here and be with _him_. They would need a doctor here; too, they have from day one. But just like the dreams, he pushes the voice away, refusing to listen because it's so unimaginable, so _not_ him that it's bordering on ridiculous.

So he dreams. Dreams of a future he'll never have, dreams of a past that lasted all too short but left him a changed man nevertheless and when he wakes up, his back is killing him and his heart aches because he's back, back in reality.


End file.
